


Supply And Demand

by Yusariis



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Brat!Sub Rhys (kinda), Dom(Ish) Jack, I tried for it, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, dirty texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yusariis/pseuds/Yusariis
Summary: Jack is stuck. He’s stuck and he knows he’s stuck because skipping out a third time on this meeting means ugly shit happens. He is stuck in this seat and his boyfriend is at home and bored and clearly in a mood.---In which Rhys supplies filth and Jack demands he follow through.





	Supply And Demand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nyghtmare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyghtmare/gifts).

> Written up for my buddy Nyghtmare as a reward for finishing his awesome art! Was supposed to be five hundred words.... and is not.  
I hope everyone enjoys!

Jack is in a meeting when he first feels the steady vibration. He brings out his phone and gives it a cursory glance.

_ When are you coming home?  _ Rhys' icon pops up on Jacks phone, sent 7:38 PM.

_ Im in a meeting. _ Is the most Jack can type out.

_ I'm horny, _ was the only reply.

_ Congratulations, _ Jack replied,  _ Im in a meeting - it’s important. _

_ Lol what? You’re seriously ditching me for a meeting?  _ Rhys' angry message demanded.

_Lol, yup._ Jack hits send, puts his phone back in his pocket, and resumes focus. He stares evenly back at the quiet stares from others in the room. He waves his hand for them to continue.

The phone in his pocket continues to buzz as the voices drone on. Jack shouldn't have ditched this meeting the first time. There wasn’t even a slutty Rhys involved that time. Or the one after.

He ignores the next round of texts the best he can - Slag profits are down by a whole percent. Another buzz. Radiation is being plugged as ‘natural and reliable’, buzz, which is definitely a publicity problem in the making considering slag never stops fuming,  _ buzz _ -and makes it about another thirty seconds before he glances at his phone again, this time under the table.

He sees a list of text messages from Rhys, increasingly frustrated.

7:39 PM - _A fucking_ _meeting,_

_739 PM -_ _smh. _

7:39 PM -  _ come home _ .

The buzzing stops now that Jack’s on his message screen. The messages do not.

7:40 PM -  _ Fuck me. _

7:40 PM -  _ Sit on my face. _

7:40 PM -  _ I dont want a dildo in me, I want your dick. _

7:41 PM -  _ or fingers. Something. _

7:43 PM -  _ Come home, NOW! _

At 7:43 PM - Rhys is done with words - this is just an Eggplant emoji. And another eggplant emoji. Eggplant. Eggplant. Eggplant.

Jack bites down on a knuckle, fighting back laughter and a groan he nearly let slip. He can say this - Rhys doesn’t back down when he wants something bad enough. 

The screen switches up on him. Jack sobers up once he sees the picture at the end of the text line. 

That… okay, that got Jack’s attention.

7: 50 PM -  _ Tell me I look good, Jack _ .

The image shows Rhys running a finger along the vein on his hard-on, a single dewdrop of precum at the tip. Lying nude on Jacks bed and clearly  _ smug _ about how he looks.

God, Rhys looks good naked.

_ Damnit, _ he thinks, prying his eyes away and towards the goggle-geeks in front of him. He’s supposed to be paying attention to this one. The ‘radiation vs. slag’ debacle going around is  _ actually _ a threat to their bottom line and one of these chucklefucks is  _ supposed _ have half a decent answer for him. And here he is, completely lost and stuck with a megaboner he’s been sporting because of this (his) spoiled, horny brat.

Jack absently taps his fingernails against the back of his phone, he has no idea how to respond to this. Or, actually, he does, because the best response is to ignore it. He  _ knows _ to ignore it, even. 

If only his dick, tight in his pants, agreed with him.

_ Fifteen minutes _ , Jack thinks.

Fifteen minutes and he can reasonably cut the meeting short and say to reconvene in the morning. Future Jack will hate it, but that’s a problem for a Future Jack that will have had an all-night fuck-a-thon with an impatient brat who takes nudes like he’s a model. And, apparently, likes to send them to Jack when it’s least convenient.

There’s a laundry list of reasons to turn his phone off, now that he has made a decision. He's about to do just that when next buzz hits his tingling palms:

8:00 PM  _ You’re leaving me on ‘Seen’?!  _ Rhys sent a picture of his middle finger, between his teeth, staring dead into the camera, and the word  _ Asshole! _

Then Rhys sends a follow-up of himself sucking off that same middle finger.

8:05 PM _ \- jfc  _

8:05 PM  _ \- shoot em or something, idc.  _

8:05 PM -  _ Just come home and fuck me.  _

8:05 PM -  _ Ufkc me. _

8:05 PM -  _ Fuckme fuck me fuc k me fukc me fuck me _

8:06 PM -  _ **fuck _

Jack is stuck. He’s stuck and he knows he’s stuck because skipping out a third time on this meeting means ugly shit happens. He is stuck in this seat and his boyfriend is at home and bored and clearly in a  _ mood _ . 

Fine, five minutes then. Five minutes until he can call the meeting off early. He can sit through five minutes of Rhys begging to the void - Rhys might even enjoy the tease of it.

And just then,  _ just _ as he thinks that, his phone rings.

The meeting goes silent again as the silenced phone buzzes away. Jack freezes for a single moment, feeling somehow caught.

"Are you going to answer that?" Someone asks.

Jack whips his pistol out and shoots whoever just said that.

With his best Boss Face on, he answers it---

But Rhys beats him to it with a thick,  _ hot _ moan of “ _ Jack _ .”

“Meetings over.” Jack says, hoarse, “come back tomorrow, nine,  _ sharp _ .”

The first death not yet settled into the room, everyone bolts out on command.

"I'm coming home," Jack says roughly over the phone.

"No,” Rhys whines, hoarsely, “ _ now _ .”

“Hold on, Jesus! Fast-Travel’s in my office, baby,” Jack says, voice low as he gathers his papers. Rhys is undeterred. 

“I need to cum  _ now _ , Jack,” and the way Rhys says his name, the soft tone, the crack in his voice, makes Jack shiver. Jack hears faint squishing sounds and realizes that Rhys is using a dildo over the phone line. 

“Make me cum, Jack," Rhys purrs.

With an arm, Jack swipes everything off of the conference table. 

“No,” Jack ignores the bratty whine that comes, “no, you don’t get anything yet until you apologize  _ properly _ , you get that? Do you even care how bad you’ve been?  _ Stop moving _ .”

The rest of the noises stop.

“Move up,” Jack says, “until that fake, second-hand dick is barely even in you anymore, got it? See, now you’re in time-out,” Jack says. “And you don’t get to move anymore until I say you can. I told you I was in a meeting! What don't you understand about that, cupcake? We’re about to lose all revenue from slag once this radiation crap hits the markets, and I needed three goddamn hours to figure out a company plan. But you… you really know how to push me, don't cha?"

"...Oh." After a pause, Rhys says,“I didn’t - I mean, I knew you were busy, but I thought you could still get away for, I dunno, a couple hours. I thought…. No. I wasn't really thinking, I guess.”

“No, you weren't,” Jack scowls. “And you’re gonna start making it up to me right now.”

“I'm sorry--”

“ _ Quiet _ .” Something in the mood changes, the effect goes a little sideways - 

Jack wants to turn the conversation back to his dick. “You’re doing everything I say, that's gonna be the only way you get off.” Rhys breathes, hard, and it’s everything Jack needs to hear. He gets onto the table and lies on his back. “You're not going to move a _muscle_ unless I tell you to, unless I say you can. Everything that gets your greedy little cock hard is _mine_, you got that?” He asks while undoing his belt. “You can say it - ‘yes, Jack’, go on.”  
“Yes… yes, Jack,” Rhys says.  
“Good boy,” Jack breathes out. He reaches down and slips his cock out - he’s been hard long enough that the action makes him groan. "How does it feel now that you're the one unable to be touched, while I'm able to get off, huh?"

The reply was hesitant: "...It's no different, Jack.... I'm never able to get off without you anymore." 

Jack laughed in surprise. He’s trying to focus on the humor and not how  _ stupidly hot _ that was. Last thing the kid needs is an ego-boost right now. "Bullshit. You're telling me that's why you bothered me so much today?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, lets just say I believe that, for the sake of my boner. You know what that makes you? A slutty twink. You wanna add to that?"

There’s a shuddering sound on the other end. “I’m…” a pause. Then, Rhys sighs, heated, “I’m a slutty twink.” 

“Now, get yourself back on that dildo, sweetheart. _ Slowly _ .”

Rhys purrs as he works, “I’m your slutty twink,” and they’re back on track.

Jack slips his hand further down to give the twins the attention they deserve.  
“That’s right, you are. Up now, kitten,” Jack says, waits, and keeps going. “I can't eat your pretty ass or massage your dick, and it's your own fault. That means you have to do twice the work, sweetheart, you don’t even get to touch my cock. You're _helpless_. _Down._”

Rhys huffs out a strained breath. Jack does too - he’s not immune to his own dirty talk, after all.

Jack gives himself a squeeze. "You just couldn't wait for me.  _ You _ need  _ me _ .  _ Up _ .”

"Yeah," Rhys agrees. There’s a whimper as Rhys move upwards. 

"You can’t cum, you can’t fuck yourself - all you can do is listen to me. You can’t do  _ anything _ without me,” and here -- oh, here’s where Jack  _ really _ gets himself going: “I control you.”

Rhys simply pants in return. Jack doesnt think this is a good enough reply; if they were in the same room, Jack would have pulled Rhy's hair back. He grunts, thumb rolling against the head of his dick. "All you can do is beg. So beg for me."

“I need- “Rhys swallows, “Need your cock.”

“Try again.”  
“I need your_ cock_. It's so perfect,” Rhys says, “B… big and thick and.... the cock of a hero. Augh, I don’t want a hunk of plastic stuck to the floor, I want _you_.”

Oh,  _ shit _ .

“It should be your cock in me, Jack,” Rhys says, heated and heavy and Jack feels his dick pulse in response. “I  _ need _ you.”

“Yeah, baby?” Instead, he shifts position and growls, “you want that? Then ride my dick at your own pace, now. Show me what you need.”

And, Jesus, does the kid do  _ that _ . From the sound of how hard Rhys is going, he would try to fuck Jack to death.

“Rhys-” Jack jerks his hips to his hand, running his fingers over his tip to smear his precum back down with his hand. He’s close - Jack puts the phone down by his ear, uses his now-free hand to get his shirt up.

“I can’t cum without you,” Rhys’ voice  _ cracks _ and it’s  _ perfect _ .

"Then cum," Jack demands.

Whatever Rhys held back before tumbles out of his mouth now. Jack should’ve had him describe at least some of it, but it’s too late now. All he has is sound - soft thuds, little gasps, big moans, and Jack’s name. Rhys, audibly hammering his ass up and down the dildo, is focused on fucking that thing - no, fucking Jack. Focused on what he clearly wants (Jack) because he never stops calling out. Focused on the orgasm he hits, the wrecked little sob that follows and the little hiccups of sound that demands his body to push that climax just a little longer, a little higher. 

Jack makes something of an effort to squeeze at the base of his dick, stave something off. The pressure is too good and he drags his hand up the shaft again, slow, rough, riding out the pleasure, not wanting to end it early.

“I want…" Rhys sighs as he comes down, and Jack can hear the grin on his face - the smug smile of someone who hasn’t really been begging at all. “...your control.”

Jack bucks up. Hard.

“Please cum in me, Jack?"

Jack bites down and moans into his hand as he cums, bucking into phantom hips with Rhys’ familiar timbre beside his head. His orgasm comes in spurts, then dies down to a warm dribble over his hand and just under his stomach.

Jack lies lax on the table, letting his breathing slow down. He can feel his half-loosened hair fall out of place, limp over his closed eyes. He’s sticky from sweat and his sweater is clinging uncomfortably, to say nothing for the rest of his shirts. He’s broiling in here. 

Rhys’ hum turns into a dazed little giggle - telltale of how  _ good _ he must feel right now - and Jack feels acutely,  _ physically _ aware of the film of static over the sound. That Rhys isn’t really next to him at all. That he’s not here for Jack to fondle, no body heat, no pressure on his mouth. He’s at home and Jack’s on a table in a meeting room, five minutes away. He’s alone. 

“I’m not done with you,” Jack huffs softly.

Rhys purrs appreciatively. “Get home, Jack, and I'll hold you. I love you.”

Rhys hangs up.

Jack laughs in surprise, feeling exposed, but enjoying the sensation.

He opens up his phone and flicks on the camera. He pulls it upwards, sucks in his gut and tries to flex, and snaps a photo. Shirt hiked and cum on his chest, in his chest hair. His pants kicked down and angled in just a way that everything is on display - happy trail, hip-dip and cock in blissful, horny harmony. He makes a peace sign with his free hand, for funsies.

Not bad, if he does say so himself.

With a smirk, he brings up Rhys’ contact info. Attaches the picture. Hits send.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Special shoutout, as always, to tepperz, for helping me edit and compress this monster down - this was originally waaayyy longer and dragged like a sunnuvabitch. Luv u, babe <3


End file.
